250 and 300
don't love me anymore
and neither do the birds or the bats
my guitar is a seagull so that, too,
stopped loving me by falling out of tune
the north pole doesn't want me
or i've smashed it to bits and moved on
run to the south pole with
a penguin sweater
that the spirits don't recognize
or compliment me for
i make love to 250 and 300
so diligently
swallow like a good boy does
but they laugh and leave me empty
wondering if all i need is a vaster love
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